And that's how it started
by PersianWitch
Summary: Oneshots about characters from the universe of one of my previous SW fics - Looking For Ourselves.


_Witch's thoughts: I wonder who knew immediately, what's going on here... _

_just something to put my mind off work. reviews, as always, very welcomed. enjoy:)_

* * *

Music pounded in loud, dull rhythm.

Opening her eyes hurt, so she focused on air currents and smells, to define where she was. All of them were foreign; some spices, smoke from strange weed mixed with sweat of at least three races along with dirt and mud. The breeze shifted and she knew she was alone, but that was okay. She didn't want to have anyone with her anyway. Her head hurt too much.

Trying to remember what had happened to leave her so wasted didn't help much. There were some unclear memories, but all the same, the past remained a blank darkness in her mind. What couldn't be denied, however, were a large bump on her head and bloody pain, when she wanted to open her eyes.

Someone must have kicked her miserable ass and she wasn't in one bit amused by this. But fact remained a fact, no helping it. Had to move on.

Slowly, carefully avoiding hurting her beaten sides, she managed to get up. Blindly, she sniffed the air and turned right, without a miss choosing correct way to get the hell out of there. Cracking one of the eyelids open, she confirmed that this one end of the alley was at the same time its beginning, giving her an opportunity to mix into crowd of the main street. Taking a few steps into tight group of aliens, she disappeared from sight.

Two shadows tailing her stopped, confused.

/

Holding her hurting sides, estimating few ribs broken, she hobbled into one of the always-open pubs on the way, far enough for her trackers to lose their trail. Feeling a little better, but still very self-conscious, she chose to sit in the corner, where the light was dim and where no one would interrupt her. Her eyes were better, but she still didn't want to torture herself with strong light. In the meantime, she beckoned at the waitress, the one wearing much less than she needed and ordered a bravlik beer. Then, sat heavily at the table, which no one else wanted to occupy.

The impact of sitting only made her broken bones to dislocate some more and she nearly moaned quietly, but in the end, restrained herself. She was no pussy to be crying over something so small. But hell, it sure did hurt a lot…

When she looked up, the mirror hanging on the opposite wall made her realize, why all the customers who wanted to offer her some paid pleasure, be it sex or drugs, ran away as soon as they looked at her close-up.

Her dark hair was ruffled; she looked as if she was fighting with a hairdresser. One ear torn in half, the other one peeking from tangled mass on her head. Clothes in disarray, but still intact, not even very dirty. One of the knee-high boots was a little cut, but otherwise still okay. Leather pants, recessed in these boots were shiny and tightly-fitted. Her top was uncovering instead of covering her belly and arms, but she looked at it with a soft purr of satisfaction. Usual diversion tactic, who looked at her boobs, nearly always ignored her belt, heavy and armed piece of metal. To her utter surprise, she still had her money and blaster with her. So, no one dared to rob her, unconscious and out? Interesting…

Her tail moved on its own, circling in never ending line of question marks. Now, entirely aware of her looks, she made herself more comfortable on the bench. Knowing very well, that no one would accost her, afraid of all that blood she was sprayed with, she smirked to herself. Her beer nearly flied onto the table, when scared waitress ran away.

"Hey there!"

A strange voice. Annoying smell. Large shadow, covering the mirror. Who the hell…?

"You new here, babe?"

She looked at the man with cold, but indifferent expression on her face. Without words, her look was saying 'I don't understand and if I do understand, you'd better be out of here'. But the guy didn't even flinch and she had to admit she was impressed a little. Normally, other people would be far away by now.

Narrowing her eyes and putting her tail on her knee, she observed the one who wanted to talk with her so badly. Tall male, human or very humanoid. Tanned, long green hair braided and falling over his broad shoulders. Arms bare, without tattoos, scars and marks. Muscular, yet harmonious body. But on the second glance, he had hands with hardened skin on fingers, pads on his elbows and enforced belt, as if to carry a lot of heavy stuff. A shooter, most likely a sniper. Dangerous guy, huh? But she started to like him…

Except for his smell. Wrinkling her nose, she sniffed once more. Yes, too rich, too spicy, too heavy for such a man. Or maybe…

She shuddered, ignoring his question as for what's wrong. Then smirked.

"You are a murderer." She said, grinning. Her smile was somewhat terrifying; all that fangs did their thing. But the guy didn't even flinch, just returned a sneer.

"So are you." He countered, with one move of his long leg, getting himself a chair and sitting in front of her. "What's your name?"

"How do they call you?" she ignored the question again, too focused on inhaling this scent, this heavy and sweet smell of old blood, masked with perfume. Yes, she definitely liked him.

"You are hurt." He smiled charmingly. His teeth were very white.

"Not really, just some scratches." She snorted, gritting her teeth from pain.

Either of them didn't want to reveal anything about themselves, to the end trying to maintain incognito. With talk full of evasions and ignored phrases, they entertained each other for some time and two glasses of cocktails. To anyone else, they looked like a flirting pair, but for a trained eye, they were tense and ready to defend. So, no wonder that when the police raided the pub, both of them jumped from their seats in unison, grinning, as they expected a fresh blood to be shed.

/

Some time later, when the sirens faded in the darkness along with police's squad cars, on one of the triangular roofs of the city, the talk continued.

"I haven't seen such a martial arts in a while. Nice work there, doll." He said, sitting down on tiles.

"Don't call me that" she barked, crouching. Sweat was running down her face, when every move she made blazed before her eyes with white fire of pain. 'Damn', she thought, 'it's starting to heal. Dislocated! Fuck…'.

"Well, they haven't expected that either." He added, not minding her outburst. "But, I would like my sheath knife back. Please?"

"First give me my gun." She said. Her breath came in whistling gulps, but nearly inaudible. Gripping the blade in her hand, she made a step back.

"Well, no helping it." The man sighed exaggeratedly. "Hand in hand?"

"Of course."

Instead of giving the weapon to each other, both of them directed the dangerous part of held arm into the other, keeping it this way, before they started to laugh just in the same second.

"I like you, my black kitty." He said, catching the handle, as she threw the knife at him. "I'm Samos, the name is Talik, but many just call me Sam. You are..?"

Talik Samos, she thought frantically, but with happy tingling in her veins. The obsessive sniper, an assassin who would kill anyone. What luck, what luck! Her lungs hurt and she couldn't breathe normally anymore, her mind screamed at her to get the fuck out of there, to heal and them face him, but euphoria at achieving the goal so fast was too overwhelming and she was starting to see black dots before her eyes.

"I think I've seen you somewhere." Talik said slowly, looking at her more carefully. "Hey, you alright!? Puss!"

She lost her balance and bonelessly started sliding from the tiles, before he caught her. With half open, amethystine eyes and blood coming from her mouth in thin rivulet, she was lifted up and taken somewhere, again being lulled into unconsciousness by darkness. And the last thought that vanished in the welcoming blackness was:

I'm Kusj Blackstone.


End file.
